We finished breakfast and talked about a plan to get me to the Dragonstation. There were several possible ideas mooted, but none passed the stringent ‘remotely plausible’ test. We were still scratching our heads when we heard a noise outside, and found that the Quarkbeast had dragged a pram from one of the building’s many boxrooms, and was looking at us excitedly and wagging its tail.

‘Brilliant!’ said Tiger. ‘The Quarkbeast’s a genius! Listen carefully: we’ll need some baby clothes, a piece of card, a felt-tip pen, some old clothes and a wig.’

Twenty minutes later, and after Tiger had wished me all the very best of luck, I let myself out of the garage doors at the back of Zambini Towers and walked towards where the guards were standing on the corner. I was dressed in one of the Sisters Karamazov’s old outfits and a red wig I had borrowed from Mr Zambini’s dressing-up box, and was pushing the Quarkbeast in the pram. The Quarkbeast was wrapped up in a baby shawl and wearing a pretty pink bonnet. A placard tied to the front of the pram announced that I was collecting for the Troll Wars Orphans Fund. I wasn’t convinced this would work but Tiger was smart and it was the only idea we had had.

‘Everyone has lost someone in the Troll Wars,’ he had explained, ‘so no one will stop you.’

He was right. Since Troll Wars widows begging for coins were not at all uncommon, I was ignored by the members of the Imperial Guard who were searching every car on the roads. There were posters of me up on the walls, telling the general public how I was a dangerous lunatic and a traitor and had to be stopped as a matter of national security. As I crossed the road a police car passed with a large loudspeaker on the roof, offering an earldom and a guest spot on the You Bet Your Life! quiz show to whoever turned me in. I quickened my pace and made it to the waste ground where I had hidden Exhorbitus. I wrapped the sword in a blanket, hid it under the pram and turned into the road in which the Dragonstation was located.

There was a ‘Police line do not cross’ tape barring my way, and outside the Dragonstation were two Imperial Guard armoured cars, and upwards of a dozen soldiers, all armed. I took a deep breath and walked towards them. It was all going well; if I could make it to the Rolls-Royce all would be—

‘Quark.’

‘Shhh.’

‘Good morning, ma’am. Going somewhere?’

Two of the Imperial Guards had walked across to see who I was and what I was doing there. It was galling. I was almost within spitting distance of the Dragonstation.

‘Spare a groat for a poor Troll War widow?’